Cinderella: Bound for the Prince

by Powerone

  She looked completely different when she got out of the carriage. Her dress was sexy and revealing, along with long legs covered in lace stockings. “Welcome, Ella.”

  “It’s good to be here, Prince Michael,” letting him kiss her hand and linger.

  “Lady Elizabet Browning is here, but she is being prepared. Shall we go?”

  Ella, as she called herself with Prince Michael, loved that term, being prepared. She hooked her arm into his as she proudly walked next to him. All bowed or curtsied as they passed, and Ella gave each one a knowing nod of her head as if she was royalty. She felt like it. She loved the suit that Prince Michael wore, all the way down to the expertly tailored trousers that enhanced the bulge of his prick beneath it. She enjoyed that she inspired his erection with not so much as a touch. She heard many voices, mostly men’s boisterous sounds, but they passed by some rooms until they came to one. He held the door open for her.

  Inside, there were six men in the room along with six women, but only three looked to be wives. The other three were young, too young to be a wife. They sat in large, overstuffed chairs, each big enough for two so they would have their privacy. The chairs encircled the center of the room as though it was reserved for a show. The men were from wealth, their hair cut to perfection, their suits tailored and stylish. They were all in good physical shape, though most were in their forties, only one looked to be as young as the prince. Cinderella was glad that Straparola picked out her dress, just as stylish and sexy as the other women. Against the wall was some covered furniture, not sure what it was, but there were two men standing next to them, ready to move them when desired. There was one empty chair reserved for Prince Michael, and it sat in the center of the circle of chairs.

  Prince Michael took time to greet each member and the woman he was with, though he didn’t recognize some of the younger women. They were often interchangeable with a new one each week. He held Ella’s hand as he introduced her. “Are we about to start?” Prince Michael asked.

  “She’s on her way here with Lady Oates.”

  Ella felt a chill run through her body when she sat next to Prince Michael and their hips touched.

  Elizabet was soaked by the time she entered the room; the walk was sexually exhausting. The straps between her legs worked in concert to bring her body to a peak. She entered the room and was surprised to see so many men and women. She caught sight of Prince Michael immediately, seated in the chair with the most prominence, but her heart dropped when he saw that woman next to him, the one that he danced with at the ball. Her mother told her she was named Ella, but she knew nothing more. No one knew anything about her.

  “Come,” but Lady Oates, no longer using Elizabet’s name.

  Elizabet was led to the center of the room, and everyone looked at her, Elizabet was positive that they could tell she was aroused and why. She looked at Lady Oates and saw the riding crop in her hand, wondering where it came from and why she had it.

  “Take off your dress,” but she punctuated the command with a slap of the riding crop against her buttocks. “Now,” another slap and she saw the look of surprise on Elizabet’s face.

  Her buttocks stung from the blow, but the people just stared at her, none said a thing or protested. It was as if it was expected and the most natural thing.

  Lady Oates whispered into her ear. “Don’t disappoint Prince Michael, now do what I say or it’ll get worse. You’ll perform for his pleasure unless you want to suffer the consequences of defying the king and end up in the castle jail until you are an old woman.”

  No one defied the king. He was ruthless against those that displeased him and Elizabet was sure that he’d take out his vengeance on anyone that defied his son. She looked and saw no sympathy from the men in the audience, especially Prince Michael. He had a smirk on his face. Another slap to her buttock and she became inspired. She reached back to undo the dress, difficult to do because the slightest movement made the straps touch her in different ways. Lady Oates grew impatient and helped her until the dress fell to her feet. She put one hand over her bosom while the other went between her legs as all the men looked at her.

  Michael was impressed with the corset she wore, but it was the straps between her legs that drew his eyes. “Remove your hands and put them at your sides,” he ordered her sternly.

  Her hands trembled as she stood up tall with her hands at her sides. All eyes were below her waist where they could see the straps and how lewdly they exposed her sex to their searching eyes. She was naked except for the straps that did more to enhance than hide.

  “Spread your legs,” Lady Oates punctuated her request with two slaps to her buttocks and that got her attention. Her legs spread. “See how wet she is. The straps give her such pleasure. She enjoys the stringent bondage. It excites her.”

  Elizabet turned a heated red at the shame when her secret was exposed. She couldn’t deny it as the straps were wet with her juices. With her legs spread, they could see her slit opened up and her pink insides exposed.

  “Turn around and show your backside.” Lady Oates was ready with the whip; this time, it attacked her tender thighs before Elizabet yelped and turned around quickly. “Legs spread wide.” Another blow to her thighs, but this time, it was from behind, but close to her quim.

  At least they wouldn’t see her shame. She tried to clench her cheeks, but the straps prevented her, and her clenching only made the lump push harsher into her stretched anal ring.

  “Bend over and touch your toes and hold that position.” Another slap, but she learned and bent over quickly.

  She couldn’t take much more of the riding crop. Her skin felt hot and sore each time it slashed out, and it was worse when it attacked her tender thighs. She feared that Lady Oates would strike her on her quim. She groaned as the straps between her legs tightened. Her insides were penetrated by the bumps on the straps, not so much by the length, but the thickness of the bumps. Her quim and anus was stretched wide. Through her shame, she felt the strap rub her pleasure button, not in pain but shameful pleasure. She struggled not to have an orgasm in front of them all. The blood rushed to her head as she struggled to keep the position.

  “Stand up.”

  Elizabet finally got relief, but it was short-lived.

  “Squat down then back up. Do that twenty times for Prince Michael? Keep your knees spread out to the sides.”

  The straps all took their toll on her body as she performed. With her knees spread wide to the sides, all of her quim was opened up except the fearsome strap that rubbed her up the middle. She had to turn around and do the last ten with her back to them, feeling as though her bowels opened up each time she did and they saw everything. When she did the twenty and stood up with her legs spread, there were drops of her pleasure on the floor beneath her. How could this humiliating act make me aroused?

  Lady Oates’ hand slid around her waist. “You are soaked, Elizabet,” she whispered in her ear. “I’m going to take your corset off, but don’t worry. I’ll have you bound soon enough to make you grow aroused once again.”

  Elizabet trembled as Lady Oates began to undo the strings that kept her body pinned so tight in the corset. She was more ashamed at being taken out of the corset, because they would see that her body was no longer beautiful in an hourglass figure. She didn’t fear being bound; in fact, she looked forward to it, igniting a growing arousal at the thought.

  Lady Oates stood Elizabet in front of all the men as she slowly removed the corset from her body. She had to take off the straps that split her buttocks and her quim and that disappointed Elizabet. Lady Oates soon had the strings opened, and she slid the corset down until Elizabet was stark naked and her body was covered in a pink flush of shame. Lady Oates nodded to the two men that brought the device over to the middle of the floor.

  As the black cloth revealed the device, Elizabet’s thoughts of bondage turned to fear. It was a long bench made of thick pine. It stood up on four sturdy legs with crossbeams for added strengt
h. It was about three feet long, but as the width of the bench went toward the end, it grew wider until it was about three feet wide. There were black leather straps and buckles at the end on each side. The front of the bench had a thick round pole that rose up from the center for about two feet. At the top was a leather strap bolted to the post, but about six inches from the other end of the strap was a dog collar. It was at least two inches thick, but it had to be for a large dog or what she feared, the neck of whoever was bound to the bench. On the bench in front was two more leather buckles, but they were bolted down, one on each side. She turned to Lady Oates to plead with her, but in her hand was a large, black leather paddle with the riding crop.

  “Kneel on the bench and don’t give me trouble,” she warned her.

  Naked and defenseless, Elizabet had no choice. The men were more interested in what would happen to her than helping her. Some of the women already rubbed the men’s trousers that sat next to them, making their erections bolder. Her knees ached when she got on the hard bench.

  “Spread your legs wider, to the edge of the bench,” a sharp slap of the riding crop on her thigh made Elizabet move faster.

  The riding crop hurt much more than before, and Elizabet feared the thick paddle. She felt male hands on her ankles, pulling them rudely apart until she felt the leather bands go around her ankles, and then, the buckles were tightened until she felt tingles in her toes. Her legs were spread too wide, leaving her open for everyone to see. Then, the man’s gripped her wrists and made her slide her hands along the bench until they could secure them in the cuffs, the buckles made too tight once again.

  Lady Oates tapped Elizabet’s chin with the riding crop hard enough to make her push it up until it stood up proudly. It took only a minute for one of the men to secure the dog collar around her neck. She made sure that it wouldn’t be too tight. Then, she unveiled the large mirror in front of her and behind her. Elizabet would be able to see everything that the men saw.

  Elizabet was shamefully exposed with her legs spread wide and the divide of her backside lewdly spread. She was exposed from anus to quim. Her breasts hung down like heavy udders, but that didn’t stop her nipples from swelling. She was forced to look forward by the dog collar that kept her head pinned tight.

  “You may cry out all you want,” Lady Oates warned her. “Men’s pricks get very hard at the thought of a lovely, naked woman being whipped and paddled for their pleasure, and cries only make it better.”

  “Noooo, pleassee, noooo—” but her begging was cut off by the sharp slap of the leather paddle on one buttock. It felt like the flesh was shoved into her bone with such force, burning all the way down. When it pulled back, her buttock still shook with pain. “OOOOWWW!” Another blow came just as fast to the other one before she could comprehend the first. Lady Oates started at the top of her bottom and worked meticulously down both sides. It hurt when it slapped so close to her anus, sending the tight knot into spasms. Elizabet still felt the shame at being penetrated by the straps in such a place. “OOOOOWWW, noooo mooorreee!” She cried out when the paddle struck close to where her buttocks met the tender flesh of her thighs, stinging with such pain. Her body shook, but the straps held her tight and spread.

  Ella watched as Prince Michael looked so intently at what happened to Elizabet. She couldn’t believe the depravity of it, naked and kneeling, Elizabet’s bottom was being beaten with a paddle, yet no man made any attempt to help her. Ella should feel sorry for her, but she didn’t. Elizabet had been cruel to her for too many years, and she deserved everything that would happen to her, yet Ella didn’t know the depths of depravity that would overtake her. She did notice that Prince Michael’s prick rose up to greater prominence as Elizabet was paddled. She looked around the room and saw the other men were also more inspired by what took place. There was good reason for it. Some of the women had drawn the men’s pricks out of their trousers, especially the younger women, eager to please. She looked around until all six men had their pricks stroked by soft hands that glided up and down the shafts, just as Ella had done to Straparola. None of the men looked at the woman at his side; they were engrossed in Elizabet’s distress.

  Michael wanted to touch his prick and pull it out, but he didn’t want to scare Ella off. It surprised him when he suddenly felt something, looking down long enough to see Ella’s soft hands slowly opening up his trousers. The slightest touch of her fingers as they grazed across his trousers made his clenching prick rouse to such hardness. “AAAHHH,” he cried softly in pleasure when her hand pushed into his trousers and clenched on his undergarment-covered prick. Her fingers didn’t stay still as she explored it. He tried to watch Elizabet, but his eyes were continually drawn back to Ella as her fingers finally pulled his prick from his pants and stood it up so proudly. She didn’t look at him; she watched his prick so intently, as if she was memorizing everything about it.

  All around her, Elizabet could see the men getting pleasure from the women’s stroking hands on their pricks, but it was her cries and anguish that made them hard and excited. Her bottom ached and burned, but she felt her quim grow wet once again. She fought against the leather straps that held her bound and spread, but when she felt the pain of them tight around her limbs, she also felt the pleasure of her naked body spread and bound for the men’s pleasure. The riding crop was next, more precise, and Lady Oates used it with such skill. First, Elizabet’s crack of her bottom was attacked by the thin but resilient leather crop. The slap was much harsher and concentrated, and Elizabet cried out, but in shame when she was hit on her anus. She could feel the muscles revolt, spasms of pain shook her body as the tight knot swelled under the relentless blows of the crop. It felt like Lady Oates tried to drive the crop into the dark depths of her bowels, but that thought only made her think more of what that would feel like. She looked over to see the woman with Prince Michael stroke his prick. Elizabet knew she was tricked into this. Prince Michael only wanted to see her suffer, but so did the other men. Is that all men want from me?

  Lady Oates took to Elizabet’s thighs, slapping the riding crop back and forth until they turned a lovely pink. She moved from her knees all the way to her quim. She made sure that Elizabet felt the wind of the crop on her quim to warn her of what would soon happen. Lady Oates wasn’t surprised that the lips of her spread-open quim were wet with her juices.

  Elizabet’s body froze as the crop came closer to her quim, part of her feared it, but the growing part of her arousal welcomed it. Yet, when it happened, it still surprised her by the ruthlessness of it. This was the most sensitive part of a woman’s body and should be treated gently, not whipped for the pleasure of men. That is what she’d thought, but now, she wasn’t sure. “OOOWWEEE!” The first blow was hard and caught her on her outer lips where the flesh was puffy. It slapped hard against the soft skin with a loud, wet sound that rang out in the room. She didn’t have time to think as Lady Oates moved up and down Elizabet’s slit without slowing up, extracting the loudest cries from her mouth. It felt like her quim swelled up, but she couldn’t stop the flood of her arousal from spilling shamefully between her legs.

  Lady Oates began to ravish her body with the riding crop, from her anus to her quim, then catching her dangling breasts until they swung like udders beneath her but with hard nipples that bore the brunt of the crop. Lady Oates paid special attention to the top of Elizabet’s slit. It was difficult to get enough force from between her legs, but she did it consistently with a rhythm to continually tap at the swelling pleasure button. “She’s going to cum for us,” Lady Oates proudly stated to all.

  Elizabet should be ashamed at what she said, but she was correct. Elizabet couldn’t hold it back any longer. She watched all those pricks being stroked to such hardness, and they leaked out their seed, all while they watched her being whipped. Instead of being ashamed, she was proud she could inspire such lust in the gentlemen with her naked body. She let her body go as the pain and pleasure consumed her with an explosive orgasm. It
was as if her life was shattered with pleasure. “Harder, faster,” she cried out as she came.

  They all watched her body go into spasms of pleasures; the bench beneath her legs was wet with a pool of her arousal. Lady Oates continued to work her over with the riding crop, not letting her orgasm end, driving her from one plateau to another. She was an expert at what she did, and the bound woman was no match for her.

  Elizabet collapsed in a pool of pleasure, but the straps held her and refused to let her go. She watched as the men got up from the chairs, their pricks still sticking out of their trousers like spears. Lady Oates stood next to her.

  “You did well, but just a bit more now.” Lady Oates hand caressed her face, and then, her fingers slid slowly over her wet lips.

  Elizabet didn’t know what she meant. She was exhausted, but then, one of the men stood next to her as his prick jerked uncontrollably. It hadn’t dawned on her until now when Lady Oates pushed her fingers into Elizabet’s mouth and pressed her lips to open. The prick moved closer, and she realized what Lady Oates wanted her to do. Elizabet had lost her virginity to a man and had stroked too many pricks before, but she never took a prick in her mouth. She couldn’t grasp doing such a thing. A prick leaked, and when a man came, he shot profusely. In her mouth, it would choke her to death with the thick crème. She’d tasted just a tiny drop from her fingers, and her face had grimaced with the foul, acrid taste. “NOO, noott in mmy mou—” she mumbled around the fingers in her mouth, but it was too late. She felt the hot flesh of a prick on her lower lip, and when the fingers were pulled from her mouth, the prick slid easily inside. Her lips stretched wide around the prick, but nothing she could do would rid it from her mouth. When she moved her tongue, it only excited it more, making it jerk up and hit the roof of her mouth but fall back down onto her tongue once again, but now, it stained it with his leaking cum.